“Look at her,” the Commander tells the others. “Legs spread, tits in her own hands. She’s begging to be watched. Begging to be told how to come.”
The Commander isn’t wrong. The drugs didn’t create this hunger. They only gave me the excuse I needed to act this out. The truth is, Iwantthis. I want all these men to see me writhing. Even the thought of it makes me closer to orgasm.
“Slap your tits,” the Commander says. “Make them bounce. Make them beg for a mouth.”
I strike my own breasts, the sting shooting straight to my pussy. I squeeze them together, lift them high, thrust them forward as Lyric devours me between my legs.
“Orgasm human,” the Commander orders. “Show them what a human receptionist straight from Earth sounds like when she comes.”
And I obey. The orgasm tears me open, and I scream for them, pornographically, my thighs clamping around Lyric’s head while my own hands punish my breasts, and the room watches as I break.
When it’s over, I collapse back, trembling, still clutching myself, nipples red and swollen from my own abuse while Lyric licks me reverently, savoring my taste as if I were holy.
The Commander is still watching, his hand stroking lazily at the front of his trousers. “One performance,” he says, “and already you spread yourself wide, offered your tits, and on command screamed your release for strangers. You can tell yourself you signed a contract and chose this, but you can’t fight your human DNA.”
He adjusts his uniform, leaving himself unsatisfied, judgment unfinished, as though saving the final release for another.
Humiliation crashes over me. I’ve climaxed in front of an audience. I’ve been used for their entertainment, and I loved it. Worse, I savored the eyes on me and the filth of being displayed.
I am the Devil’s whore.
The nuns would say this proved my damnation, citing both female weakness and sinful desire, and maybe they’d be right. But I must question myself; am I really going to take those man-made beliefs about sin into the galaxy with me, or leave them contained within the minds of men on Earth?
I want to leave them behind. But are they woven into my DNA?
Lyric lifts his head from my pussy, his lips glistening. He strokes my thigh before easing my skirt down. “Thank you,” he says with sincerity. “You responded gorgeously. Please don’t forget my name, and I’ll remember yours when the Commander comes into my mouth later tonight.” He holds my gaze as he licks his fingers, slowly and obscenely, before returning to the stage with a satisfaction that looks like victory.
The Commander leans toward me, voice low and final. “Now you understand. The Empire doesn’t just cage humans. It makes them proud to serve. The horror isn’t that humans hate it; it’s that many love it.”
I am speechless because it’s a sobering thought. Will I also learn to love to serve at the Celestial Spire?
11
NOCTURNE'S EDGE, RAFE
I openthe file the instant the notification pings my console. Something was added to my human receptionist’s record.
Orgasm from a doctor on her first day. And now this. A human pet between her legs.She’s sex-crazed.
I have full access to theIgosurveillance files,so I open the footage. It is silent, but her body tells the story.
Eve leans back against the sofa, her lips parted and her eyes glassy.
The human companion Lyric kneels between her thighs. His movements are slow and practiced, and she doesn’t resist; in fact, she opens wider for him like it’s instinct.
And then I watch her slowly unfasten her shirt one button at a time, like she’s enjoying giving those officers a show, then her large human breasts spill free and she cups them in her hands, pinches her pink nipples and plays with them under Sor’s orders while his men watch. Finally, she rides out her orgasm with an expression of erotism her personnel files never captured.
Then, I notice a glass of amber liquid rests near her hand, half-empty, and the ambient lighting glows with that telltale blue haze. I check the atmospheric logs.
I shake my head. She wasn’t fully in control, but it doesn’t matter. She obeyed, spread her legs, bared her breasts, and climaxed for an all-male Imperial audience.
I close the file. Sor let her drink, let her breathe the doctored air, let her strip for him and every officer in that lounge. He’ll argue it was legal, standard procedure, and nothing to discipline.
But it is not nothing to me.
Eve ismyhuman hire. My responsibility. And I will not have her reduced to performance stock before sheeven sets foot in the Spire.
Lorian’s ship hovers a few kilometers beyond the Reima Two Space Station—Nocturne’s Edge, all dark hull and aristocratic menace. When I step into his lounge, it’s warm, and I can smell incense and fresh flowers. He has a woman here. Women from the planet require warmer temperatures.
